Ryder’s throwing the car in reverse as he tosses a wad of bills out the window. “Sorry, we’re running late. Keep the change!” he calls before peeling out of the spot like we’reThelma and Louise—or at least,attemptingto peel out. In his haste to make a quick getaway, he ends up clipping an abandoned shopping cart someone’s wedged next to the curb, sending it careening across the parking lot.
The look of sheer panic on his face is a thing of beauty. Ryder’s a good Samaritan to his core, so I know it goes against everything he stands for not to stop the car and grab the runaway cart before it hurtles into another vehicle (or worse, a person), but he also knows that doing so would just draw more attention to ourselves and thwart our escape. His hands flex on the wheel as he wrestles with the choice, and I can tell the exact moment he decides to cut his losses, throwing the car into drive. But when he lurches forward, his front tire hops the curb, making a loud squealing noise, and a bunch of bystanders turn and stare.
He lets loose a string of expletives as he floors it, peeling out of the parking lot practically on two wheels while I nearly combust in laughter.
“Did Tom Cruise teach you those car-handling skills too?” I manage between gasps, unable to pull in a full breath.
“Shut up.”
“Ever heard of curbside pickup?”I say mockingly, and he groans and snaps the AC to max vent, sending me into a fresh round of hysterics.
I pluck the Stingrays hat off his head and place it on my own. “I can’t imagine why this brilliant disguise didn’t fool him,” I deadpan, pulling it down low over my eyes. “What do you think, could I go incognito?” I tease, peeking up at him from under the brim.
He flicks the bill of the cap up, his topaz eyes glowing gold. “I could pick you out of any crowd, Scarlett Everhart.”
The years fall away when he looks at me like that, carrying me backward in time like a current I can’t fight against. Riding shotgun with Ryder makes me feel twenty-one again, relaxed and carefree and in the moment, free from the baggage I drag around like a weighted blanket.
I’m still giggling when he pulls onto a gravel road a couple minutes later, eventually slowing to a stop in front of a mechanical arm blocking our entry into a private parking lot. He taps a code onto the keypad and the barrier swings up, and as we drive in I notice a sign partially obscured by leafy palm fronds:Palmetto Grove Marina.
I gape at him once he’s swung us into a spot and killed the engine. “Are we going on aboat?”
“You’re very observant. Grab those last couple bags, would you?” he asks as he climbs out of the car, hip-checking the door closed.
“Speaking of all this food, who else is joining us tonight?” I ask, grabbing the bulging bags from the back seat. “The entire Seafolly Stingrays offensive line?”
“Cute.” He locks the car with a beep, motioning for me to follow him.
I trail a step behind him out onto a weathered wooden dock, watching my step on the worn, uneven boards. Boats of various sizes, shapes, and body styles are docked in neat rows, and a couple of lanes over, an older man with a border collie at his heels lifts his faded ball cap in greeting, and Ryder nods back. Something about the exchange tugs at me, though I can’t quite pinpoint what it is.
I pick my way across the decking, grateful I chose flat sandals for this outing. Water laps at the wood pilings as we makeour way farther down the floating pier, buoys tethered to crab pots bobbing gently with the tide. The frog songs and chirping cicadas create a familiar background soundtrack that’s baked into my bones like muscle memory.
I turn my face to the sun and breathe in, letting the balmy, fragrant air whisper over my skin. “I feel like I’m in a Nicholas Sparks novel.”
He smirks. “Oh yeah? Which one?”
“Oh you know, the one that’s set in a coastal Carolina town, where the girl and guy are head over heels in love until something dramatic happens to keep them apart, but then they find their way back to each other because they’re soulmates.”
Ryder grins over his shoulder. “Ah yes, that narrows it down.”
He comes to a stop next to a sprawling boat, the hull painted a deep blue. I know next to nothing about boats, but I do know this is a beautiful one: long and sleek with a roomy center console, quilted leather seats lining the perimeter, polished wood accents and twin motors hanging off the back. He steps aboard effortlessly, and I marvel at this latest incarnation of him. First he’s a pilot, now he’s a boat captain.What’s next, an astronaut?I let out a snort.
“What’s funny?” he asks as I hand over the bags.
“You.”
He raises a single eyebrow.
“I just didn’t have both flying and boating with you on my bingo card when I woke up this morning.”
He grins up at me, bent at the waist as he unties ropes, squinting into the sun. “Don’t forget riding in a getaway car.”
“Skippering a boat,” I mutter to myself, then look aroundfor an access point where I can hop aboard. He made it seem easy with his long legs, but it’s not quite as simple for those of us not blessed with his height. Sensing my uncertainty, Ryder pulls on a line that’s tied to one of the metal cleats, drawing the boat closer to the dock and holding out a hand to help me up.
“Actually, I’m the captain, and you’ll be my skipper.” He thinks about it. “Or maybe first mate is more accurate.”
I pause mid-step. “Wait a minute.You’redriving the boat?”
He makes a show of looking around the deserted, empty dock. “Who else would be doing it?”
